John Prine Tribute

By Larry Carlin

April 8, 2020

There’s more than a bit of sadness in the air, thanks to COVID-19, and I’ve got nothing but John Prine on my mind and in my heart right now…

The first time I saw him play was in 1973 at the venerable Main Point in Bryn Mawr, PA, just outside of Philly. My musical life has not been the same ever since. I was a 19-year-old fledgling musician (as opposed to a 66-year-old flailing one now), and I’d heard some of his songs on WMMR, the hip FM radio station at that time. So, I took a chance and went to his show.

I was mesmerized. It was just him and his guitar. No backup band, no harmonies, no fancy instrumental breaks. Every song told a descriptive story in about three minutes or less. Just verses and choruses, no Nashville-style bridges were needed to break from the form. He had me at "While digesting Reader's Digest, in the back of a dirty book store, a plastic flag, with gum on the back, fell out on the floor."

He didn’t have the greatest voice, but it didn’t matter. “Illegal Smile, “Angel From Montgomery,” “Paradise,” “Sam Stone,” “Souvenirs,” “Grandpa Was a Carpenter,” and countless more were sung that night. Having been primarily a bass player and more of a rock and roller at that time, I walked out of the club transfixed and transformed. In the following days I bought a new Yamaha FG-160 acoustic guitar at Troubadour Music and began learning how to play the six-string. I wanted to be able to sing story songs for people, something that is not easily done on the bass. I also went to Korvette’s and bought Prine’s newest album, called “Sweet Revenge,” and I began learning some of the songs on there. I was so inspired that I also tried to write songs of my own.

A few years later, when playing my first solo shows at the Kern Coffeehouse on the Penn State Campus, my sets always had some of John’s songs in them. “Dear Abby,” “Please Don’t Bury Me,” “Hello In There,” and “Your Flag Decal Won’t Get You Into Heaven Anymore” were staples. The latter song I sang for 15 years while co-hosting the Breakfast Club at the Strawberry Music Festival near Yosemite. If a performer failed to show up and I had to fill in, it was the first song that I always started with. And I still sing it today. The lyrics are timeless, as is just about any Prine song.

While I still have the Yamaha guitar and that “Sweet Revenge” vinyl album, I never came close to being the songwriter that John was. I never became much of a solo performer either, as I’ve always preferred playing with others. I’ve penned or co-written about 30 some songs that are playable, and just about every one – including my most notable tune, a satirical anti-violence number called “Ode to a Chainsaw” (written in 1974) – I am proud to say is very Prine-like in tone and structure.

While I never met John or had a selfie or any kind of photo taken with him, I did see him perform many times over the decades, and I never tired of hearing any of his songs. Despite his battle with cancer some years back and other challenges, he was a true American folk hero, a trouper, the Woody Guthrie of our time. We lost a great one last night, but his songs and legacy will live forever.

Here’s a quote from the late, great Johnny Cash, which I can’t argue with at all: "I don't listen to music much at the farm, unless I'm going into songwriting mode and looking for inspiration. Then I'll put on something by the writers I've admired and used for years – Rodney Crowell, John Prine, Guy Clark, and the late Steve Goodman are my Big Four."

John has “Broken the Speed of the Sound of Loneliness” and cashed in on a one-way ticket to “Paradise” with an “Angel From Montgomery” as his guide. “When I Get to Heaven” I’ll look forward to seeing his “Illegal Smile” when, “In Spite of Ourselves,” he says, “Let’s Talk Dirty in Hawaiian.”

I think it’s time to dry away the tears, pick up my guitar, maybe open a beer, and sing me some John Prine songs for the next few hours. Because "That's the Way the World Goes 'Round..."